


Consequences of the Highest of Highs

by AmateurScribes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Death, Dexter Grif- Freeform, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Ethical Dilemmas, Gen, Hallucinations, Minor Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington, Mood Swings, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-13 21:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11769069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmateurScribes/pseuds/AmateurScribes
Summary: To them, he was the hate glue that kept everyone together at the expense of offering himself up as a literal and metaphorical punching bag.He was sure that they didn't think he didn't have much use beyond that, but he was determined to prove them wrong.He could prove just how useful he can be, that way they won't need to leave him behind again.





	1. Drainage of Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Consequence of Death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the fic goes on it will explore some pretty dark themes and the tags will be updated accordingly. This is an experiment I'm working on to help with the writing process of my other stories, so forgive me if it's a bit wonky. Despite that, I hope you enjoy the story!

Grif ran his hand _(No - not his hand this was Simmons’ hand because Simmons somehow cared about him. Isn’t that just the funniest thought?)_ through his hair while taking a haggard breath. For the first time in weeks, he became aware of the dirt and grime on his skin, his hair that had become tangled and greasy from lack of care, and the feeling of his skin crawling while he desperately fought back the urge to scratch it all off.

For the moment he was alone _(but not for long because now he was with the guys again and they wouldn’t leave him even though he wouldn’t blame them for leaving him behind if they did because he’d leave himself behind-)_ on the hill where they had battled those other simulation troopers.

The fight against Temple had defiantly been a taxing one, both emotionally and physically. There was too little time to find an alternative solution and in the end, they had resorted to well- they just-… it was _easier_ to not think about what had happened and what they had to do.

_(Who was Biff?)_

Carolina certainly seemed distraught, but he assumed the reasons were due to something that had happened while he was on the island. To be frank, he didn’t really understand the whole story behind the Blues and Reds. He just jumped at the chance to save his friends when he found out that they were in danger. _(And really he jumped at the chance because what better way to be forgiven than to save their lives which would surely show them that he was committed to them and that he’d be willing to risk his worthless life for them-)_

_(Why did Temple call him Biff?)_

In the chaos that was the wake of the apparently very _r_ _eal_ time machine, nobody had noticed him slipping out of the base. He made it to the hillside and had been sitting there since. Luckily, the other blues and reds hadn’t regained consciousness yet. Hopefully, they’d stay that way until the authorities arrived so that they could be properly dealt with.

_(He was choking on his own blood and yet- Biff?)_

Thankfully, the cameraman had managed to film some useful footage according to the reporter, Dylan. They had just the right amount of evidence to prove their innocence and to put the Blues and Reds into the spotlight. As she claimed, the media would crucify them better than they could.

_(He wasn’t too sure about that, the pole seemed to have enough force to shatter Temple’s armor- but who was Biff?)_

There were repercussions to be had from this whole thing, Grif was sure of that.

He heard the roaring of a Pelican's engine in the distance and knew that the UNSC had finally got their shit together to investigate just what the hell had happened. How they hadn’t arrived sooner was beyond him.

_(He can firmly say that he’s never seen the life drain out of someone’s eyes before but there wasn’t quite much left of that eerie blue visor after the impact of Temple’s body smashing into the ground to hide anything. Temple’s eyes were focused on him, blood caking his forehead and crawling across his face to seep into his eyes, but he knew that when he uttered his final words that they sure as hell weren’t directed at him, a demented smile being pulled up by some imaginary string…_

_Who was Biff?)_

Opening the storage compartment where he had kept the Meth Meth Shrooms, he pulled out one of the smaller ones that he had left untouched during the hill battle. While it wouldn’t give him quite the boost that it had during the fight, it would still propel him fast enough towards the base so that nobody would question _(or notice because he’s not important to them in the end but he can be if he just proves it to them-)_ his absence.

He lifted up his helmet slightly so that his mouth was showing. Biting down on the shroom, he felt lightening zap and jolt across his body providing him with the energy that had drained out of him quickly after the final battle. His once lethargic limbs regained their strength and he jumped up already speeding back to the base.

On his way back he pondered just who would face the brunt of the repercussions.

_(Who was Biff?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can contact me on either of my Tumblrs: @agent-murica or @amateurscribes, for just about anything! Thank you for reading!


	2. Bite into the Core

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Consequence of Knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, another chapter. I'd like to start this off by saying that this chapter broaches on some topics that people might heavily disagree with, but I'd like to ask that everyone remain respectful nonetheless. I'd also like to thank my lovely beta, Erin, for helping to edit this chapter. I hope you all enjoy!

The UNSC had questions, a lot of questions. Thankfully, Dylan took charge in dealing with them while they waited for Carolina to finish recovering. By the time she could finally stand up again without falling over or leaning on someone as a crutch, Dylan had returned with the news that the UNSC was going to let them go for the moment.

There was ample enough evidence to prove that they weren’t the ones behind any of the attacks; the remaining Blues and Reds were evidence enough that they had been framed for everything. Despite this, the UNSC still wanted them to give statements on what happened.

Somehow Dylan had managed to convince them that she could write up a report on all the events that had happened, as well as getting statements from all of them. Her case that the Reds and Blues wouldn’t be as welcoming to any UNSC operative after being wrongly accused of multiple crimes as they would be to a familiar face under the pretense that the information would not be published until the UNSC themselves could make a public statement.

With the manhunt against them finally called off, and the last of the SIM Troopers properly apprehended, the group took a collective sigh of relief. They could almost put this whole thing behind them… almost.

Now that the immediate danger had been dealt with, Tucker had started getting antsy on any news about Wash’s condition.

Tucker had taken to pestering Grif about when Locus would call him with an update.

“Look, I don’t know when or if he’ll call,” Grif snapped. “For all I know he could be bringing Wash to _us_ right now.”

That only seemed to keep Tucker off his back for so long, the aqua idiot coming back to him every hour or so to ask the same damn question.

Unfortunately for Grif, there weren’t many places for him to avoid the Blue. Dylan’s ship had been totaled from his efforts to avoid getting blown out of the sky so while it was receiving repairs the UNSC had so _graciously_ given them a Pelican to use for the moment.

Despite it being much bigger than Dylan’s ship, it still wasn’t big enough to have a multitude of rooms. It had a hull and a cockpit; that’s it. And after his last attempt at flying the plane, he had been permanently booted to staying in the hull.

At least Tucker was ‘kind’ enough to leave him alone after Grif had rejected his pestering for the nth time that day.

It was during one of his rare moments of peace that he _finally_ received a call from Locus.

He quickly answered it with a surprised, “Locus?”

Tucker perked up, having heard him answer the call and he barreled his way over to him. “Is Wash ok?” He asked urgently.

Grif pushed Tucker away by his helmet, having been distracted that he almost missed Locus’ response.

“Agent Washington is fine. He made it safely to the _General Doyle General Hospital_ on Chorus with little to no problems. As of right now, he is recovering under the watchful eye of Dr. Grey and should make a swift recovery,” he took a beat before he continued on; sounding more apprehensive than he had been previously. “I cannot say the same thing for myself.”

“What?” Grif asked concerned. “What do you mean?” Tucker seemed slightly panicked at that and Grif had to hold up a hand to shut him up.

“Upon my arrival on Chorus, I was immediately apprehended and incarcerated for my previous… crimes against its citizens. Thankfully, Agent Washington was brought into immediate care, had they waited for any longer he would have, unfortunately… perished.” Locus’ voice had maintained its monotony, but Grif could hear the clear undertones of remorse laced within his words. “As far as I know, I will not receive a hearing or a trial, but as for my sentence, I have an… idea of what will happen to me. I will either receive a life sentence or if deemed necessary, a public execution.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Wait they can’t do that to you!”

“Seeing as I have committed an egregious slight on the population of Chorus, President Kimball has every right in the world to do with me as she pleases. I’m grateful that they permitted me one phone call, it is more than I deserve considering the circumstances of the last time I was here…”

Locus made to continue, but Grif swiftly interrupted him. “Now way, that’s complete and utter bullshit dude, sure you were a complete asshole in the past but you’ve been working hard to redeem yourself! That’s gotta count for something!”

He seemed to have shocked Locus into silence for a moment, but when he spoke again he didn’t remark upon Grif’s interruption. “I advise that you and the others come to Chorus and retrieve Agent Washington, but do not interfere with the events of my fate; it’s not your place.”

Like hell it wasn’t! Grif made to contradict him, but Locus cut him off with a quick, “Regrettably, my time is up.” And with that the call ended.

Grif was shocked for a few seconds before Tucker grabbed his shoulder and repeated the question he’d been asking ever since they’d been off the hook from all the bullshit the world threw at them.

“Is Wash ok?”

Grif put a hand up to his visor and hunched over himself from where he was seated. “Yeah, yeah, your boyfriend is fine, Tucker.” He swiftly undid the latches of the seat, ignoring Tucker’s sputter at his remark, and made his way to where Dylan and her cameraman were piloting the Pelican.

“We need to go to Chorus,” was all he said as he entered the cockpit. “Wash is there at the, um-” he tried recollecting the name of the exact hospital Wash had been admitted to, but between the thoughts that screamed about how Locus’ life was potentially on the line _(and the thoughts that still resurged about the Blue and Reds and about Temple and about whoever the hell Biff was-)_ that he couldn’t remember the name.

Thankfully Dylan seemed to know, “He’s at the _General Doyle General Hospital_?”

Grif nodded, giving her a silent ‘thank you’ in his head. “You’ve been there before?”

Dylan gave her camera man a small side glance before slowly answering with a, “You could say that.”

“Yeah,” the cameraman exclaimed _(and seriously what was that kid's name? When he had first introduced himself Grif hadn’t been as concerned with whom the hell he was as he should have-)_. “That’s where I got treated after she shot me so that sh-” Dylan cut him off quickly with a withering glance.

“Regardless,” she said tersely. “I’m not sure if the UNSC has had time to remove the blockade they had on the planet, if it comes down to it I have a way to get in but I’d rather it not come to that.” She leaned over the controls and loaded the coordinates into the ship's navigation system. She shot Grif a quick look behind her and said, “You can go tell the others that as of right now, we’re en route to Chorus.”

“Can do,” Grif muttered and walked back into the hull. He told everyone that Wash was fine and that they were heading his way, which managed to calm down the remnants of Blue Team and Carolina while the others only gave a small hum of acknowledgment.

Grif headed back to his seat and promptly collapsed into it. Simmons moved to sit next to him and glanced at him but didn’t say anything.

God, he hadn’t even done anything today but he’d already felt as if he ran a marathon. His hand brushed against a side compartment located on his right cuisse. He knew for a fact that he had maybe one or two of the smaller Meth Meth Shrooms left. He resisted the urge to just open it and eat one now; he had no need to.

For the duration of the flight to Chorus, his hand didn’t move from its spot on his cuisse.

* * *

 The second their ship landed and the so called ‘welcoming party’ of former Lieutenants came to greet them, Grif had stormed out of the hull and demanded to talk to Kimball. 

Sure they were shocked to say the least, but seeing as he _was_ an acclaimed hero on the damn planet, his request had been granted and he had been promptly escorted to Kimball’s office.

Of course, he had to wait for a few minutes outside her office for her to finish up a conference call with some other politician or other. The entire time Grif had desperately resisted the urge to just take one of the shrooms to give him some sort of extra boost of confidence for what he was about to do.

Soon enough the door slid opened and Kimball’s warm smile greeted him _(but how long would it last when she figured out what he was trying to get her to do; she was going to hate him-)_. “Come on in, Captain.”

She moved out of the way and he stiffly walked in. Her office wasn’t what he had expected after their ten-month absence, and that applied to the whole of Chorus; it looked much more advanced and _alive_ from when he’d last seen it.

“As much as I’d like to think that you’re here for some tea, I know that that’s not the case. Please,” she gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk, “have a seat.”

Grif raised a hand to decline the offer. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather stay standing.” He opted to wander closer to her desk. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t stray close to the windows. While it was a small chance that it _could_ happen, he didn’t want to risk Kimball kicking him out of said windows if he made her angry enough.

Kimball quirked an eyebrow at that but made no verbal remark in it. She sat down at her desk and shuffled some sheets of paper before folding her hands under her chin. “Now tell me, Captain, what’s on your mind?”

There was no use beating around the bush, the quicker he got to the point the quicker he could get it resolved and dealt with. Hopefully. “Look, Kimball, I know that you’ve basically got Locus on death row.”

Immediately Kimball’s eyes turned cold and her gaze became like steel. Her mouth turned slightly downward but she otherwise kept a neutral expression. “Yes, and what of it?”

Grif was walking on eggshells, he knew he was. “I think you should reconsider.” He felt the urge now more than ever to feel the boost from the shrooms. He could feel that his energy was slowly waning.

Kimball’s hands gracefully settled on her desk, her expression not betraying her emotions but the tension in the air giving it away nonetheless. “I was curious,” she started, her words turning icy, “when Locus requested one phone call. Of course, I was going to deny him that; he could have called for an airstrike for all I knew.” She got up from her chair and meandered towards the windows, looking out into the city, its lights illuminating her face in the darkness of the night. “But then he tells us that he requested to call you, specifically _you_ , and well that had me puzzled.”

Grif stayed silent, his fingers nervously tapping against his cuisse. At seeing him in the reflection of the window, Kimball continued. “Tell me, Grif. Why should I reconsider anything? He deserves everything and anything I could sentence him to. I know it, the people of Chorus know it, and I _know_ that _you_ know it too.” Her eyes narrowed and her mouth turned down finally as a scowl graced her figure.

Grif didn’t flinch when Kimball’s scathing gaze landed on him. “Locus deserves to pay for his crimes, he knows that more than anyone else Kimball. But if you keep him locked away in a prison cell or if-if you just kill him, you solve nothing."

“I disagree; it would be less than what he deserves.” Kimball turned towards Grif, her head held up high. “My people deserve justice and I plan on giving it to them.”

“Kimball, you haven’t seen what I’ve seen,” Grif had managed to keep his calm this far and he wanted, needed, to keep a level head if he wanted to get anywhere with her. “Locus is determined to be a better person, he can’t put what he did here, and probably elsewhere, behind him but he can sure as hell use it as a motivator to repay his debts tenfold to those who need it.” His finger tapping rapidly increased in its speed. “When he came to help us, he told me that he was doing it because it was ‘the right thing to do’ and when he fought with us he said that he wasn’t going to kill a single person; that he didn’t do that anymore. And guess what,” Grif took a step forward, his hands stalling for the moment. “He stayed true to that. Hell, when Wash got hurt he hurried him onto his ship so that he could reach medical attention, he brought Wash _here_ despite knowing that he would be arrested on sight because he knows that you guys are trustworthy enough to save Wash’s life.”

Kimball didn’t say anything but her expression changed slightly. It was that small change that propelled Grif to continue. “He is dedicated to atoning for his crimes, and from what Carolina told me, he was helping out a colony of refugees before the Blues and Reds killed everyone there, and he can’t do that behind bars or if he’s dead.”

Silence radiated in the air for a moment, before Kimball glanced back out the window. “And what of those we lost because of his actions? Where’s the justice for them? Where’s the justice for Matthews-"

“Don’t,” Grif immediately and forcibly grounded out. “Don’t- that’s not- you can’t-” he floundered on what to say. Kimball had completely derailed his thread of thought. “Locus didn’t personally kill _him_.”

“He might have well, killed him.” Kimball retorted icily. “And what of those that he did? He has to answer for his crimes.”

“Kimball,” he pleaded. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, but if there’s one thing I know it’s that he regrets everything that he’s done. Trust me when I say that he knows that he deserves to answer for his crimes. When he called me he told me not to interfere, but I’m doing so anyway because he won’t say it, but he wants to work towards his redemption. But right now, it looks like you killing him or imprisoning him for life are his only options to even slightly make up for what he’s done. He’s willing to go down without a fight because he _knows_ that, Kimball. If he voiced his own thoughts, I’m sure that he’d say how much he doesn’t want to die, but not because he’s scared of death, but because he knows that he is in no way done trying to ‘fix’ his mistakes. For every death he caused on Chorus, he’ll save ten times as many.” He felt like he was losing any semblance of a proper argument and he knew that he’d have to wrap it up soon. “You won’t listen to him, and I will never ask you to, but at least listen to me. No good comes out of keeping him in prison or executing him; make him work for his own redemption. In the end, it’s your decision, but please at least consider what I’ve said.”

Kimball was silent, and Grif didn’t dare to break that silence. When she spoke, it wasn’t towards him. “What do his thoughts say?”

The red Sangheili AI appeared next to Kimball, Grif didn’t startle having become accustomed to the AIs presence well before him and the guys left for the moon. It made a small hum, before responding. “While his thoughts may be wild and scattered, he is being truthful. He means what he says and is not being influenced by any outside forces.”

Kimball’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you, Santa.” With that the AI disappeared, leaving Grif and Kimball alone once more.

“I will pardon him,” Kimball finally spoke. “He will be allowed to leave Chorus freely upon the same ship that he arrived on.”

As much as Grif wanted to thank her for that, he knew that it wasn’t his place to say anything quite yet.

Just as he expected, Kimball continued and made her way towards Grif. “However, if he ever comes back to Chorus, if he is ever seen within these very streets, if he is even near it from orbit then he will be immediately apprehended and sentenced to life in prison to _never_ see the light of day ever again in his miserable existence.”

She stopped in front of him, looking up straight into his eyes. “If there is _ever_ any news of him doing _anything_ similar to what he did here to anywhere else then that is firmly on _your_ shoulders.” Her eyes became daggers that cut into Grif without any hesitation. “Do I make myself clear, _Captain?_ ”

Grif nodded slightly, and he uttered out a simple, “Thank you, Kimball.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she responded sharply.

Grif took that as a clear dismissal and made his way out of the room, every step he took burning away the bridge between himself and her. He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the door frame. “You won’t regret this,” he told her.

“I better not, Captain,” was all she said.

Needing no excuse to leave, Grif exited the room and the door slid shut behind him. He leaned against it slightly, sighing to release all the tension that had been building up every second that he had been in that room.

All the energy that had been surging through him in the heat of the moment was now gone entirely. His whole body felt like it was made of lead, and without thinking his hand immediately went towards his right cuisse.

Before he could open the compartment, Santa reappeared right in front of him, shocking him.

“There is turmoil poisoning your mind,” it remarked. “If you continue to not address it then there will be immediate repercussions.”

“Sure,” Grif drawled out.

“You don’t believe me,” Santa stated. “Heed what I say for the benefit of all.” It disappeared after leaving that cryptic warning.

Grif stared after it for a while, before quickly heading down the corridor, not wanting to linger in the area for much longer.

And if he dodged into an empty room to quickly pop one of the shrooms to give himself the boost that he so desperately needed then no one could blame him.

* * *

 Grif managed to be on a balcony near the tarmac when the Chorus officials escort Locus to his ship, the _A'rynasea._

They’re holding Locus at gunpoint but Locus doesn’t seem to mind or care.

Somehow beyond all odds, Locus manages to look directly where Grif had situated himself. Grif raises his hand slightly, not knowing if it’ll mean anything to Locus.

Locus is brought to his ship without any sort of fuss at all. He takes off just as fast, not wanting to anger Kimball any more than he’d already had.

Grif stays on the balcony for a little while longer, not finding the energy in him to move. Eventually, he decided enough was enough and got up to head back to Wash’s hospital room.

On his way down a corridor of the hospital, he noticed a message pop up on his HUD.

[Locus 19:56] For what it’s worth, thank you.

* * *

 Grif had been sitting in the loft that Kimball had provided for all of the Reds and Blues to stay in while Wash recovered when he heard a knock on the door.

He put the book that he had been reading down and approached the door, putting his hand on the scanner to open it. The door slid open to reveal the stoic face of Dylan.

Before he could put a word in, Dylan held up her datapad and microphone. “A moment of your time if you would; I’d like to get at least one interview with you in before I have to leave and head back to Earth.”

Grif raised an eyebrow but otherwise stepped aside to let Dylan in. “I thought we’d finished all that bullshit that the UNSC required of us days ago.”

“You all did; this is more for the piece that I’ll be writing as soon as I get back,” Dylan answered. “If you’d be willing, I’d love to ask you a few questions.”

Grif thought it over for a second. “Fine, you can interview me or whatever,” Dylan smiled and opened her mouth but Grif interrupted her. “But if, and only if, I get whatever information you have on the Blues and Reds  _unedited_ and if I get three passes to avoid any question that I’m not comfortable with answering.”

Dylan seemed surprised at his former request but otherwise had no qualms about his requests. “I’m ready whenever you are,” she said.

“Just give me a sec,” Grif muttered before he retreated into the bathroom. Once the door was firmly shut behind him, he opened the storage compartment on his cuisse to take his last shroom. Without a second thought, he ate it, bracing himself on the sink.

Feeling his energy trickle back, he looked up into the mirror, regretting that he had taken off his helmet to read. His skin was taut and pulled across his face lightly, with deep bags shadowing his eyes.

To put it simply he looked like shit and there was no way to hide it from Dylan at this point.

Once the shroom was working to its fullest effects, he exited the bathroom and gestured Dylan towards the two couches.

He sat down on the couch Sarge had claimed for Red Team while she sat on the one the Blues were left with.

Turning on her datapad swiftly, Dylan opened up to a document that had pre-made questions on it _(and why would she do that when there was nothing interesting to even ask about him, she could have chosen literally anyone else for an interview or maybe she already did and now she was left with his sorry ass-)_ and turned her microphone on, pointing it towards Grif.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to start with your childhood. From the records shown to me from your time in Blood Gulch, it seems as though you’ve had quite the peculiar upbringing. Is there anything you’d like to share from your childhood?” She began.

“Pass,” he said nonchalantly. He wouldn’t be caught dead talking about his family to any of the guys, there was no way that he’d reveal it to a reporter _(because he and Kai would be made into laughing stocks all across the galaxy and who wouldn’t want to laugh at the circus brat fuck ups who had to pretend everything was fine when it never was-)_ even if he had to waste one of his three passes.

Dylan seemed slightly disappointed but continued on nonetheless. “Alright then. Is there anything you’d like to remark on about your years at Blood Gulch? Perhaps a commentary on the origins of both your multiple organ transplants and Simmons’ cybernetic surgery?”

Grif scoffed his foot tapping lightly against the floorboards. “Besides the fact that Tucker was an asshole for running me over with a fucking tank and that Simmons did what he had to do to save my life? There’s nothing more to say about it, it’s as simple as that.”

Dylan hummed slightly at that. “Would you care to elaborate on your relationship with one Richard Simmons? He must have cared about you a great deal to sacrifice his organs and limbs for you?”

Grif narrowed his eyes before biting out a harsh, “Pass.” There was no relationship between him and Simmons; they were friends by necessity, not necessarily out of mutual companionship. There was nothing more to it _(which was a complete lie because they had had that moment but that was because of the temple so surely there was no way that the feelings had been reciprocated by Simmons at all and even if he did one day he would wake up and realize that he could do so much better than him-)_ at all.

She made a small note on her document, looking through her questions to find one that hopefully wouldn’t be shut down by him. She stopped scrolling and looked up at Grif. “There have been some rumors as to the destruction of the base where you were first stationed, is there anything you can enlighten-"

“Pass,” Grif barked out, his foot tapping growing incessantly as he crossed his arms. There was no way in hell that he would ever talk about that, _ever_. _(He didn’t want to talk about it because he knows that that would just lead to everyone agreeing that he should have died, that he deserved to die there more than anyone else who did die there because at least they died honorably in battle while he only survived out of pure fucking luck-)_

Dylan blinked in surprise, certainly affronted by the tone he had taken up. She seemed to have finally taken a hint, as the rest of the questions were considerably tamer than the first few, thankfully for Grif who had used up all his passes.

The interview didn’t take too much time; it had been the same boring drivel that he and the guys had gotten well beyond used to.

“One more question,” Dylan said as she turned off her datapad. “Are you ok?”

The question had caught Grif completely off guard and he only responded with a, “Huh?”

“You look like you haven’t eaten in days,” _(he had so little food with him when he was left on the island that he was forced to ration it out but eventually the rations became so small and it didn’t matter because he hadn’t had much of an appetite after being reunited with the guys anyways-)_ , “and you look like you haven’t slept at all either,” _(because for as much as he liked to sleep he couldn’t get more than an hour or two of rest in at once and he’s been feeling so much more tired lately but he doesn’t even know why-)_ , “so is everything alright with you?” she implored.

For some reason that question had released a floodgate of anger from him that he didn’t even know where it came from. “I’m sorry, _Andrews_ , you said that this was an _interview_ ,” he vehemently said. “But that sounds more like you’re interrogating me, is that what this is supposed to be? An _interrogation?!_ ” he nearly screeched.

He sat up quickly from the couch, ignoring the dizzy spell that accompanied such a move. “I don’t need to deal with this shit from you!”

He stormed his way towards the door, slamming his palm on the scanner to open the door and he walked out briskly leaving behind a stunned Andrews on the couch.

He walked down the corridor, steaming, before opening a door at random and jumped in. The storage closet he ended up in certainly wasn’t big, but it was just enough for him to sit down and hunch over himself.

He rested his head on his knees and tried to control his breathing to calm himself down. He curled his fists, his nails digging painfully into his skin.

He focused hard on the pain, closing his eyes and continuing to breathe in and out. In and out. In and out…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was chapter 2! The next chapter should come out next Saturday if everything works out. If you have questions, concerns, etc. you can contact me at either of my tumblrs: agent-murica or amateurscribes.


End file.
